


Hotel California Part 14: Killer Kink

by carolroi (CarolROI)



Series: Hotel California [16]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Drama, Episode Related, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 09:18:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9315146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarolROI/pseuds/carolroi
Summary: LIfe goes on in Cascade.  Megan and Jim are assigned a case that hits closer to home than either of them realizes.





	

"Have a seat, people," Simon Banks ordered, waving his hand toward the conference table. Megan took the chair closest to the head of the table, next to where Van Goswick stood, folders stacked high on the surface in front of her. Jim opted for a seat halfway down the other side, and Captain Banks leaned against the front of his desk. 

"Just in case you haven't met, Megan Connor, Jim Ellison, Detective Van Goswick of Special Victims. I'm assigning the two of you to work with her on last night's murder." 

Jim frowned. "What about Homicide? Don't you two normally work hand-in-glove?" 

Goswick slid a folder toward Megan and one at Jim. "Normally, yes. But they've got more cases than they can handle already. And Major Crime has more experience in catching serial killers."

"Serial killer?" Megan asked, a sudden flush of adrenaline making her heart race. She'd never had the opportunity to work a serial case before. 

"Beginning to look like it. Three victims in the past six months, and elements of the crime are a semi-match to other unsolved crimes in NCIC. Whoever this guy is, he's good. Three bodies, and no physical evidence to speak of."

Megan opened her folder to find herself staring at a familiar face. "Bloody hell! This is Martin Cummings!"

Goswick nodded her head, her expression grim. "The mayor's executive assistant. So you can see why solving these murders has just become the PD's highest priority."

Frowning, Jim glanced up at her. "Then why are we the only people in this room?" he asked, looking at his superior for an answer. "Captain, shouldn't the rest of Major Crime be hearing this?" 

Banks removed his glasses, running a hand over his face before he answered. "The--particular circumstances of Mr. Cummings' death are of a nature that would be rather embarrassing to this city's administration if they became known to the media. The mayor's office would like the investigation conducted in a timely, yet discreet manner, something neither of you is known for," he grumbled, gazing at Connor and Ellison in turn, "but as you're both coming off medical leave, you've got the fewest cases on your plate."

"And turning up evidence where it appears there is none seems to be your specialty, Detective Ellison," Goswick added. 

Megan gave the other woman a shrewd glance. Perhaps there was someone else in the PD who thought Sandy's press conference had been the load of BS it was. "So why does Cummings' death need to be handled with kid gloves?" She flipped quickly through the preliminary autopsy report. "Says here cause of death was asphyxiation."

Jim had been studying his copy of the file as well. "Since SVU is involved, I'm assuming he was sexually assaulted?"

Pulling out a chair, Van sat down, nodding. "We're not sure if it was consensual or not. Cummings was openly gay, and not so openly a member of the leather crowd."

Ellison's mouth twisted in distaste, but he kept any comments he might have had to himself. 

"I see you know what I'm talking about, Detective," Goswick said.

"Well, I don't," Megan interrupted. "You'll have to spell it out for me." 

"Cummings was into S&M, bondage and domination games. He kept it very quiet, only a very few of his closest friends knew about it." 

Megan brushed her hair back behind her ear. She'd heard some people were into that stuff, pain for pleasure, but she personally didn't know anyone who played those kind of games. Or, she realized, it was more likely that she did, but like Cummings, they'd kept their sexual preferences to themselves. "If it was such a big secret, how come we have this information already?"

Van tapped her pencil on the stack of files in front of her. "I've got contacts in the bondage community. I knew he was a participant."

Jim spoke up. "So you thinking he picked the wrong person to play with? Or was this just rough sex gone bad?" 

She shrugged. "Right now, I don't know. I know from looking at the body that he'd played hard before his death, but whether his death was a result of that, or from something or someone else entirely we won't know until the complete autopsy's done." Van slid two more folders to Megan and Jim. "Those are the other two victims, Jack Sommers, and Bernice Roth. Nothing to connect the two together, or to Cummings--"

"Except for the fact that all the victims were found naked, dumped in various abandoned warehouses around the city," Jim stated, all three folders open in front of him. 

"And were they all into this bondage thing?" Megan asked.

Van nodded. "Yes, both of them a bit more openly than Cummings. They were known to frequent the local leather hangout, a place called Sadie's. Cummings did as well, at least according to my sources. It could be the killer is a regular there."

Jim looked up from his perusal of the other folders. "Were they tops or bottoms?"

"Bottoms, though I had a couple people tell me that Jack Sommers was a switch."

Megan was thoroughly confused. "Hold on a tick, you're talking a foreign language." 

"Sorry," Van said. "A top is usually the dominant person in a Dom/sub relationship, the one wielding the whip. A bottom is the submissive, getting the lash's sting. A switch is someone who is comfortable doing both."

Megan turned that over in her mind for a few seconds. "So we're probably looking for a top."

"It looks that way on the surface, but we can't assume anything without more evidence."

"Exactly," Captain Banks broke in. "Look over the case files and the crime scenes and bring me back someone I can charge with this before the Mayor starts breathing down all our necks."

* * *

Megan pulled her Tahoe to a stop outside the old Cascade Cannery building. Crime scene tape was plastered across the open doorway to the warehouse, and a lone black and white sat in the gravel parking lot. 

Van Goswick leaned forward between the seats. "The first two bodies were found in warehouses in this same general area, the waterfront. Homeless folks found the first two, this one was called in anonymously on a burner phone."

Ellison opened the passenger door in preparation for getting out. "You think it was the murderer?"

Van shrugged as she opened her own door. "Could be. Could be someone else up to no good who happened to stumble over it in the course of their own bad business." 

She started to head toward the building in front of Jim, but Megan held her back as Ellison limped toward the warehouse entrance. "Let him go first and do his thing. I doubt there'll be much left to find after the crime scene techs have trampled through there, but let's not make it any worse." 

"Right. I'm the one asking for help, so I should let you work your game." 

Megan smiled at her. Goswick _was_ brighter than the average cop. They both waited at the door while Jim moved into the room, heading straight toward the chalk marks outlining the position the body had been found in. From there he turned slowly in a circle taking in the rest of the building, but his attention was drawn back to something within the chalked area. 

Crossing to him, Megan rested a hand on his shoulder. "What are you sensing, Jim?"

"Cummings was dead when he was brought here. There's no trace of him in this room except at this spot." He crouched awkwardly, examining the warped and dirty floorboards. "Got tweezers on you, Connor?"

Fishing a pair out of the small tool kit she kept in her pocket, along with an evidence bag, she handed them to Jim. Using the edge of the tweezers, he teased something out from between two of the floorboards. When he held it up after it was safely in the plastic bag, Megan could see a piece of what looked like black latex smaller than the nail on her little finger. 

Waving Van over, Megan helped Jim to his feet. "Anything else?" 

He shook his head. "You were right about this guy not leaving much behind." 

Van held the evidence bag up to the light. "If this is what I think, we might be able to get some DNA off of it. We done here?" 

"Yeah." Jim began the trek toward the SUV, Megan and Van falling in behind.

"What do you think it is?" Megan asked Van.

"A piece from a mummification suit."

"A what?"

Van paused halfway across the parking lot, examining the warehouse area again. "It's a latex suit that covers the whole body, head to toe. Completely cuts off the senses. Sub can't see, hear, move. Some of them are so extreme that the only way to breathe is through two straws going through the latex into the sub's nostrils. It's dangerous play, and finding a piece of it here makes me suspect that's how Cummings died. Asphyxiation can occur easily if the dom isn't paying attention."

The thought of such complete confinement made Megan feel suddenly anxious and clammy. "Or if they cut off their air supply deliberately."

"Yeah, I won't do it. Too much risk and too much work for not enough reward. But some subs, men in particular are into that. They claim it makes their climax more intense. No climax is worth dying, in my opinion." 

"So you're into this BDSM thing?" Megan latched onto the "I" in Van's explanation.

"It's kind of an open secret in my department. I'm a domme. Feel free to ask me anything you want to know. I'm always willing to educate someone who comes at it with an open mind." Van opened the SUV door.

"Thanks, I may take you up on that." Megan got in the driver's seat, made sure everyone was buckled in, and started the car. "Where to now?" 

"I'd like to see the other crime scenes, just to see if there's something that connects them to this one," Ellison spoke up. 

"Sure," Van replied, and Megan pulled out onto the street.

* * *

Tuesday morning found the new team back in Simon's office for a briefing. "I know you've only been on this 24 hours, but the Mayor's office keeps calling me. What you got?"

Van took the lead. "We visited all three crime scenes yesterday. The earlier two were too old, there was nothing left we could tie to our perp. Ellison did find a small piece of latex at the Cummings scene, it's at the lab now. Hopefully we can get some DNA other than the vic's off of it, but DNA takes time." She shot a glance at Megan. 

"I'm liaising with the computer forensics team. They are looking at each victim's computer usage to see if they can find any commonalities between them. They're getting me a copy of the hard drive on Cummings' laptop, and I'm going to do some looking myself, check out what websites and forums he was last on."

"What about phone records?" the captain asked. 

"So far no phone numbers common to all three victims. We are running down everyone they called, but nothing has jumped out at this moment."

Simon took a sip of his coffee and peered over the rim at Ellison. "Jim, you have anything you want to add?"

"I think we need to take a look at that club they all frequented, Sadie's. It could be the killer is just picking them at random from there." His expression tightened as he mentioned the name of the club. 

Van took a slow breath, then said, "It doesn't work like that, Ellison. All three vics were experienced subs. They would never go with a dom they hadn't prearranged to meet."

"So you're saying it's a waste of time to talk to anyone at the club?" Jim's voice had an edge to it.

The SVU detective remained calm. "I'm saying you don't know the right questions to ask. The club is open tonight. I'm planning to talk to people then." 

"Then I'm going with you--"

"No." Van's reply was firm. "I'm taking Megan." Connor's eyebrows shot up. This was news to her. 

Jim started to rise from his chair. "What the hell? I'm senior detective--"

"Jim, sit down," Simon barked. "I know you saw some of this kind of thing when you worked Vice, but Detective Goswick is the lead here, and the expert. Detective?" He shifted his gaze to Van.

"I'm sorry, Ellison, but you would scare off the people I need to talk to with your attitude."

Jim frowned, but took his seat. "My attitude?"

"Your body language, your obvious disgust at this type of behavior. Even if you could keep that from showing on your face, you would stand out as not being one of them. You're too belligerent to pose as a slave, and you don't know the rules and manners to pass as a dom. Megan I can get in as someone I'm taking as an apprentice."

Ellison snorted, but made no further comment. 

Captain Banks looked at each of them in turn. "If that's all, get out there and get me some evidence."

With the sound of chairs scraping back, the trio left the office.

* * *

Megan stared at her reflection in the rear-view mirror, wondering what in the hell she was getting herself into. She knew practically nothing about the BDSM lifestyle. Why would Van want her to pose as someone she was training? The first time she opened her mouth, people would know she was a fake. She tugged at the leather mini-skirt she'd dug out of the back of her closet. Maybe that was the point. Maybe an apprentice could get away with being seen and not heard, whereas a slave wouldn't be allowed to speak, but their physical actions would give them away if they weren't truly a sub. 

She looked out the windshield at the boringly normal building. Definitely would not know a club was here without an invite. An SUV pulled into the parking lot and parked close to the building. A man got out and came around to the other side to open the door for a woman clearly dressed as a dominatrix in a long black coat and spike heeled boots. After he removed a large bag from the back of the SUV, she clipped a leash to a collar the man wore around his neck and led him into the building. Megan was wondering if she would see them again inside when there was a tap on her window.

Startled, she looked up to see Van Goswick standing beside her driver's door. Megan got out of her car. "Hey, I got here a little early. Seems like this is a busy place." She noticed Van giving her outfit the once over. "Is this all right? I wasn't sure what the uniform was for my role here."

Van nodded, giving her a smile. She was dressed in leather pants and a very low-cut white shirt with a black leather vest over it. "T-shirt and skirt are fine. You might want to leave the jacket in the car. It'll be hot inside." Megan shrugged out of her leather coat and tossed in the backseat before locking the car and following Van toward the club entrance. 

"What's my role here, follow and observe?" Megan asked.

"Pretty much. If you have a question, just ask. I'll be happy to answer." The tall woman ran a keycard through a scanner by the door, and with an electronic buzz, it opened. Van gave her name as "Lady Vanessa and guest," to the gentleman behind the desk, then led Megan through a series of hallways and up two flights of stairs to what she referred to with a smile as "the exhibition hall".

She could see why. Dozens of curtained booths filled the room, most of them occupied by people engaging in some form of bondage play. It ranged from simple over the knee spanking to people chained to various pieces of equipment. Van wandered slowly through the area, acknowledging greetings from people she knew, asking subtly about any new doms, about Martin, Bernice and Jack with people who knew them. 

Megan kept one ear on the conversations, but her eyes kept roaming elsewhere. In a booth to her right, a woman hung in a web of ropes from a hook while her master took photos of her from different angles. Van finished her questioning, and moved to her side. " _Kinbaku_ , Japanese rope bondage. As much an art form as it is B and D."

Megan inclined her head in the direction of another stall where a woman was imprisoned in stocks while a man took her from behind. "That's public sex. I'm pretty sure that's illegal in Cascade." 

Van smiled at her and walked on. "This is a private club, members only. Just about any thing goes that's within the club charter. No liquor sold on site, or allowed on the premises, so not even the state licensing board has an interest in the place." 

They had just reached the far corner of the room when a curtain opened on one of the booths. A male slave knelt on all fours on a table, bound to it by straps attached to a harness he was wearing. He faced the back of the stall, so all Megan could see were his legs and his ass, and a bit of his back. And his genitals. She could feel her face flushing. Van leaned close to her ear and said, "Let's watch this. Mistress Julia is a pro." 

It was fascinating, in a sick sort of way. The slave's mistress turned out to be the dominatrix Megan had seen in the parking lot. She spanked him with a paddle first, and Megan could tell that it wasn't really hurting the man, who she thought was counting out the number of strokes. It was hard to hear over the drum heavy music and the noise from the other scenes going on. 

Megan had counted twenty spanks when Mistress Julia stopped and walked around to the head of the table to talk to her slave. Van again provided commentary. "She's checking to make sure he's comfortable and is agreeable to continuing. A good domme is always looking out for their sub. Oh, she's going for the tawse. This sub is a serious player." 

The tawse was much more painful than the paddle, Megan could tell. It left red stripes immediately upon contact, and the sub was having a harder time with counting. His mistress stopped several times to ask if he was okay to go on, and once she sat on the table by his head and seemed to comfort him, wiping away his tears. "I love Mistress Julia," Van said quietly. "Her relationship with her slaves is beautiful to watch."

Shaking her head, Megan said, "I'm not sure I understand. I thought Masters were mean and cruel to their subs; I thought the subs wanted it that way." 

"Some do," Van answered, "but most want to be hurt then comforted afterwards. It's complicated and individual to every domme and sub relationship. Ultimately, it's about trust and respect." 

Mistress Julia had arisen and picked up a cane. The shriek the slave made when she struck him with it sent a shudder through Megan and Van had to hold her back from interrupting the scene. "But he's—but he's in trouble, he's--"

"No, Megan. No matter how much this upsets you, you can't interfere. This is something they are both participating in willingly, as hard as it might be for you to believe." 

"I can't—I can't..." her voice trailed off as she watched the domme cane her sub, striking his ass, his thighs in precise, evenly spaced strokes. The one sound was all he had made; he was silent now, and Megan could see sweat glistening on his skin as he shivered at each stroke. She finished by bringing the cane down vertically between his cheeks, and the sub collapsed. Julia put the cane down and calmly closed the curtain. 

Megan turned to Van in horror. "We have to do something, Van. He's passed out!"

The older woman clasped Megan by the arm and began to lead her away. "No, he's not. He's in slave space."

"What?"

"In slave space. Flying. It's like a runner's high, a huge endorphin rush. It was the whole point of the scene, to get him to that place. Mistress Julia will take good care of him, and he will love her all the more for it." She led Megan to a bar in the corner and bought her a bottle of water. "Honestly, he's fine. We'll go back later and talk to her, you'll see."

Still incredibly disturbed, Megan sipped from her water in silence and followed Van back into the crowd.

* * *

It was over an hour later when Megan and Van returned to the third floor and the stall in the back corner. Mistress Julia was sitting on the leather sofa looking very relaxed in the low mood lighting, her slave kneeling between her legs, his head resting on her thigh. She was idly stroking his hair like one would pet a cat. 

Van made introductions, and Megan politely said "G'day, Mistress," but her eyes never left the slave. He was completely naked now, his harness having disappeared in the time she and Van had been checking out the orgy downstairs. His thighs and buttocks were covered in thin red welts, perfectly spaced horizontal lines, the remnants of the awful caning he'd received. Some kind of art piece protruded from between his ass cheeks, a silver wolf's head with eyes that sparkled in the dim light. She tried to make sense of it, of the reason for such a humiliating display, and could only come up with the thought that he was being used as advertising, showing off his mistress' talents for any potential customers. Van had explained that when she had said Mistress Julia was a pro, she wasn't just talking about her skills, she had meant the woman made her living as a dominatrix. 

Megan was happy to notice that the slave didn't appear to be in any pain; he almost seemed to be sleeping. Satisfied he wasn't in need of her aid, she turned her attention back to Van, who was asking about him. Apparently he was someone Julia had known for a long time, not a random pick-up as they were assuming was the case with Martin. Their hopes of getting any other info from the woman were dashed when she said she was from Seattle and hadn't been to Sadie's in a few years. It was doubtful she even knew any of the victims as they were all Cascade residents. 

Van got up to leave and Megan followed, giving one last glance to the sub, wondering what would drive a person to choose that kind of life, to allow themselves to be humiliated and beaten.

* * *

After striking out on leads at Sadie's, Wednesday had been a bust as well. There was DNA on the scrap of latex Ellison had found, but it would be weeks before they had a profile they could compare to Martin Cummings. If it turned out to be his and not his killer's, they were right back where they started, with nothing. 

Jim, Megan and Van had gone over Cummings' apartment with a fine toothed comb and had turned up zero. He seemed to have kept his game playing off site for there was no evidence he played at home. They had come across some bondage gear, but of the type a sub would have, clothing, restraints, sex toys, but no whips or other instruments of pain. All of it was being tested for DNA and once again, any leads gained were a long way down the road. It had been the same story with Jack Sommers' and Bernice Roth's apartments and personal BDSM gear, save for the fact that DNA had come back on those items, and all could be accounted for as either the victim's or their known partners' who had been consequently cleared of involvement in the crimes. 

For a lifestyle as physically messy as BDSM, the lack of DNA evidence was extremely frustrating. The only bright spot had been that late in the day computer forensics had given Megan a laptop with a copy of Martin Cummings hard drive on it. As it was close to quitting time, she had taken the laptop and headed to the loft with Ellison, intending to get started on it together after dinner. 

"So what do you want tonight," she asked as they got on the loft's elevator. "Italian, Chinese, Thai?" 

Jim gave a noncommittal shrug. "Order whatever you want, Connor. I'll eat it." 

God, he was being such a wank-a! For not the first time in the past few days, Megan wanted to punch him in the face. She'd just opened her mouth to tell him off, when the elevator arrived at the third floor. Jim stepped out and stopped so suddenly Megan plowed into his back. "What the hell, Jimbo!"

"Sandburg's been here!" 

"What? Sandy? How can you tell?"

Ellison rushed toward the door of 307, fumbling for his keys. "I can smell him." Fitting the key to the lock, he flung the door open and stepped inside. Moving to the middle of the room, he turned in a circle, inhaling. If he'd been a dog, Megan would have said his nostrils were twitching. As it was, she simply set the laptop and her purse down on the dining table and poked her head into Sandy's room.

"Looks like his guitars and some clothes and other little things are missing," she called out after quickly looking through the drawers and around the room. When there was no answer, she stepped back into the main area. "Jim?" 

Ellison stood near the bottom of the stairs, his eyes in the faraway stare of a zone-out.

"Well, fuck," she said, and moved to his side.

* * *

The scent hit Jim as soon as he opened the door. Heady and thick, rich like cream, the sentinel could nearly taste it on the back of his tongue. Sex. Wild, passionate sex involving his partner and a woman—a woman whose scent was vaguely familiar. He moved further into the loft, turning slowly, trying to pinpoint the strongest area of scent. His feet followed his nose to a spot by the bottom of the stairs. 

Here. Sandburg and a woman had sex right here. His nostrils flared as he picked up other scents beneath the salty sweet smell of orgasm. Adrenaline, a touch of fear, and the bitterness of sorrow were overlaid with the warm, musky notes of two people making love. It was troubling, and it was delicious. It sent a jolt of electricity straight to his groin. Why had he never smelled this before?

"Jim. Jim!" A pinch on the back of his hand and Megan's voice ringing loudly in his ear brought him back to full awareness. Shaking his head, he staggered, his injured knee protesting being locked in place so long. Megan slung his arm over her shoulder and helped him take a seat on the stairs. The scent was more intense closer to the ground, and he could smell both Sandburg and the woman had gone up and down the stairs. 

"What the bleeding hell was that?" Megan asked, bending over to get right in his face. "Since when do you zone on Sandy?"

Jim ducked his head to avoid her gaze and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Wasn't just Sandburg. A woman was here with him. Can you open the windows to the balcony? The scent is overwhelming." 

"You sure? We won't lose some clue to where Sandy is by doing that?" 

Shaking his head, Jim replied, "He's long gone, the scent is hours old. It only stayed so long because the loft has been closed up all day." 

Frowning, Megan did as he asked, opening all the doors to the balcony and letting in the breeze blowing in off the ocean. Coming back, she sat down on the step next to him. "I'm guessing you didn't hear me before. Some of his stuff is missing from his room. Some clothes, some books and cds, I think, and his guitars."

Jim ran a hand over his face. "No note?" 

She shook her head. "None that I could see. What's going on Jim? Do you have any idea who the woman was with him? Was it Naomi?"

A look of horror crossed Jim's face. "God, no. Someone else. The scent is familiar, but I can't place it." He tried to gather up the energy to be angry at Sandburg, for leaving him, for the wild goose chase up to the monastery, for sneaking back like a thief to steal his own things, but he couldn't find it in himself to feel anything but disappointment. 

"So why'd you zone?" Megan asked again.

What the hell, he might as well tell her. Maybe she'd have an answer for him. "They had sex." Her eyes widened. "Right there." He pointed to the spot in front of the pillar next to him. 

"On the floor? There's a bed and two couches within a few steps of here. Must be some woman!"

"Must be," he muttered. "It's the first time he's ever done it." At her incredulous look, he added, "Here, in the loft. First time he's ever had sex here that I know of." 

She blinked a couple of times and Jim could see her puzzling over it. "First, that's just gross that you would know that about a person when you walk into their home, and second, that's really sad. Four years and he never had a girlfriend stay the night?" 

Now that Jim really looked at it, he could see what she meant. "Yeah. I guess I never thought about it, or if I did, I figured he was being considerate, because of the senses."

Megan chewed her lip, her brows pulled together as she obviously tried to make sense out of the situation. Finally, she said, "I think, Jim, that there are things about Sandy that neither of us know anything about. He talks a lot, but it's about stuff, not about what's in here." She laid a hand over her heart. "From what Brother Marcus told me about his stay at the monastery, he seemed like he was really haunted by something. I can see him trying to work through whatever's bothering him, going to the monastery or to some kind of spiritual retreat. But what does this woman have to do with it? He's only been gone a little over a month. Do you think he's fallen in love with someone that quickly?"

Jim gave a hollow laugh as he got to his feet. "Sandburg fell in love according to him about every other week. I just hadn't got the impression he was seeing anyone for months, not since..." His voice trailed off.

"Since when?" Megan asked as she headed for the phone in the kitchen. 

"Since before Mexico," he finally answered, unable to say 'Before Alex Barnes. Before he died.' But from the look she gave him, he knew she had heard what he couldn't utter. But she didn't call him on it.

"So, I'm thinking Thai. Want me to order your usual?" At his nod, she picked up the phone.

* * *

Megan sat at the kitchen table with her laptop open, the lights in the loft dimmed, earphones in her ears. Jim had complained of a headache after they had eaten and had gone upstairs to lie down. It was early still, and he'd said she could stay to work with the info on Martin's hard drive. He wanted to be available if she found anything, so she hadn't packed up and gone home. Hell, she'd barely been home the two days since she'd moved out of her temporary residence in Blair's room. She'd probably end up crashing in there tonight. 

Sighing, she raised her arms over her head and stretched, wincing at the pain in her still healing shoulder. So far she was finding a lot of nothing. These were Cummings' personal laptop files she was going over, and he had been scrupulous about keeping his work life separate from his private life. There was no trace of city business on here. Not much personal business either. No copies of a novel he was working on in his spare time, no hidden files full of porn, and his tax forms were spotless. His browser history seemed to be just as boring. 

Only why would he have two different browsers on his computer? Most people picked one and stuck with it. Yet under programs he had IE and Opera. There wasn't a shortcut on the desktop for the Opera one. Maybe it was one he'd tried and just never removed from his computer. Still, it called to her. Megan hovered the pointer over it and double-clicked. The browser opened to a local news site, but down the left side of the screen ran his bookmarks. 

She clicked on a couple. Some cooking sites, movie review sites, a lot of sites about boating. She clicked on one called Blowfish. "Aha," she muttered under her breath, "now we're getting somewhere." Blowfish appeared to be an online sex toy shop. So was M.E.O. She tried one simply labeled "Hotel CA" thinking it might be a place he met up with doms. A box opened up on a red background asking for username and password. _Damn it._ She clicked on a link that said "Create Account". 

Silently cursing some more, Megan got out her credit card and signed up for thirty days for $19.95. After creating a username and password, she was able to log into the site. The Hotel California was a BDSM website promising "Real, full-time slaves, bondage parties, and fantasy scenarios all over seen by Mistress Julia." A full body shot of Mistress Julia in black leather dominatrix wear and holding a whip took up the right side of the page. Megan recognized her as the same Mistress Julia she'd met the night before. The left side of the screen listed various places one could visit on the site, spanking, medical, CBT (what the hell was that, Megan wondered), dungeon, the list went on. 

Quickly she realized that random clicking wasn't going to tell her anything. She needed to know what Martin had been looking at. It took her a while to find the browser history in Opera, but once she did, she began methodically clicking on any address with hotelca.com. Turned out Martin liked his bondage videos. He especially liked videos featuring a slave named NewPet101. Even with his face pixelated out, Megan recognized NewPet as the man she had seen at Sadie's. 

Megan clicked on one of the videos and sat back to watch. Mistress Julia had her blindfolded slave tied to the bed and was slowly and erotically torturing him. She put clamps on his nipples and used feathers and candlewax and ice. She would pause after every round of torment to ask him how he was, to give him water she dripped from her lips to his. Megan swallowed hard, her own mouth suddenly dry. That small bit of caring, of kindness, was the most sensual thing she'd seen in a long time, even after spending the previous night at a BDSM club. 

The video went on and on culminating with Mistress Julia making love to him with a dildo strapped to her hips. Megan wanted to call it fucking, the summary on the video had called it fucking, but it wasn't. It was a woman giving a man she obviously cared a great deal for something he desperately needed from her. Even with his face pixelated, or behind a blindfold, and their words between each other mostly drowned out by the music, she could see something there. The same thing she'd seen between them at Sadie's, when Mistress Julia had stopped what she was doing and had wiped away his tears. It was love, of a strange and unusual sort. 

Which, she reminded herself, was great for them. But she was here to find out about Martin. Down below the video were comments from the website members. Damn it, she needed to know Martin's online personna. She looked through more documents and folders, but couldn't find it mentioned anywhere. Back to the Hotel site she went, and this time browsed the forums. They were mostly about videos on the site, but there was a forum that Mistress Julia occasionally posted on, and several forums about BDSM topics, including meetups at various clubs, or people making arrangements for a play date. It was quite possible that Cummings had met his killer through a post on one of the forums, but without his username, Megan's investigation was at a standstill. She'd take this information to Van in the morning, see if she could find it out through her contacts, or if all else failed, they could get a court order for the website to give it to them. 

Deciding she was through with Martin Cummings internet life for the evening, she reopened the Hotel California site just for educational purposes (or so she told herself) and got sucked into the BDSM adventures of NewPet101. She was in the middle of a long flogging scene when there was an exclamation behind her. 

"What in the hell is that!" Jim said loud enough she could hear him through the headphones.

Taking them off, she replied, "Favorite bondage website of Martin's. Apparently he liked to watch." She had paused the video when he yelled, and Jim now peered closer at the image on the screen. 

"Can you make that bigger?" 

She clicked on the icon to make the image full screen. Looking over at Jim, she saw the blood rush from his face, then he sat down suddenly on a chair next to her. "What is it?" she asked worriedly. "Are you okay?"

"I know that scar," he answered in a horrified whisper, pointing to a round, puckered mark on NewPet101's whip-marked thigh that Megan now recognized as an old bullet wound. "Dawson Quinn did that to Sandburg two years ago."

**Author's Note:**

> Just want to let you know that this is the last of the completed parts of this story. I am still working on it, and hope to have new chapters ready for posting soon.


End file.
